Again - Reverse
by Dante Morose
Summary: Ed had lost count, but he knew it hadn't been too many days yet. Mustang's dark eyes and the sear of a bullet hole in his forehead lingered even as blinding white flooded his vision. Truth grinned. "Again."
1. Immutable

**Dedication:** To she-who-cannot-be-named. The plagiarism credit here goes to you know who.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. Also, the word definitions used within the section breaks are from the _Webster-Merriam Dictionary_. I do not own the words or their definitions either. What a sad life…

This gets pretty dark in patches, so be warned if you have triggers.

Enjoy.

* * *

Immutable: not capable of or susceptible to change

* * *

As a general rule, Ed didn't lie. In his experience lies often brought about catastrophes that unnecessarily complicated his already messed-up life. But the deception of omission was completely different than lying – or so he told himself.

And it wasn't like he could be charged with treason if anybody discovered he had left a few details out.

Right?

"Fullmetal…?" Mustang quirked an eyebrow. "Was my question too much for your underdeveloped mind to comprehend or did it simply fly over your head?"

"I heard you just fine," Ed snapped. He was treading on thin ice, and he knew it. The first part of the report had been easy. Ed clenched an automail fist around his pocket watch. The strain of metal squealed through his pocket. He clenched his teeth and released the reminder. He had to get through the report without revealing there was more. That meant erasing any traces of stress.

Through the office door, Al giggled at something one of the officers said.

Ed's attention shifted. He needed to finish so he could focus on Al. He could do that much. No way was he letting Al know about the Human Transmutation circle Ed had found in that man's basement.

Or how close Ed had been to seeing Truth again.

"Then would you mind answering…?" Mustang prodded, "Sometime today would be nice."

Ed watched his stomach bloat as he inhaled. Hawkeye's advice from before his report floated through his mind. _Keep it short. Keep it simple._

"When I arrived at the suspect's house the door was locked. I entered–"

More like kicked the door down.

"– and found him in the basement."

By the time Ed made it downstairs the alchemist had already begun to activate the large array. Ingredients for a human body rested in a reverent pile at the center.

"There was a human transmutation array in the room, but he hadn't activated it."

The man had panicked at the sight of Ed. The equation halted, aborted, in perhaps the most critical stage of activation. Ed had made it in time.

Barely.

"I told him to give up or I'd throw him in state prison myself."

That much was true, but the original threat had been a bit more…colorful.

"He refused."

Ed could still hear the desperation in the man's voice, the hope and the conviction echoing back in his own young voice from memories long past. It hurt to think of how much he had in common with this wretched idiot.

Well, there was one difference. Ed had made it out alive.

"How did you respond?" Mustang prompted.

"Well, naturally I stopped him," Ed scorched.

Or he would have, if the alchemist hadn't rushed to the center of the array, reactivating the equation and using himself as a sacrifice.

After a moment of silence, Mustang raised his eyebrows expectantly. "And…?"

Ed frowned, "And what? That's it; I stopped him. What did you expect?"

No way had that sounded like a report. Ed's reports consisted of jabs toward Mustang, outbursts, and bragging. This sounded too rehearsed, too calm. Too suspicious.

"…Sir," Ed threw in, knowing it was too late even with the jeering tone. He didn't need Mustang to believe him; he needed Mustang not to question him.

"And what about this damage report I have about the roof caving in?" Mustang waved a blue sheet of paper which Ed was certain was actually the receipt leaflet left over from the bill.

 _I panicked_. Ed shuffled his feet as if to shake them of the sensation that the black shadow hands were still griping his ankles, pulling him into the chaos. He thought fast, "That's how I stopped him."

No lie there.

But he hadn't been fast enough to cut the alchemist off again.

"And the reports about the Philosopher Stone?"

"False."

Lies, reports about Philosopher Stones always ended in lies, but the disappointment in Ed's voice was true enough.

The Colonel had known about the alchemist's wife, how she had died and how only a month after her death the reports of horribly mutated animals began to pop up in Rejo. The suspicion of something greater was in his eyes as he regarded Ed with deep judgment. Did he think Ed was too incapacitated by the last mission to stay on active duty?

Ed waited with no small amount of impatience.

With great deliberation, Mustang reached for his pen and signed off on the written report.

"Finally," Ed muttered and turned to stomp out of the room, intent on sleeping through the rainstorm brewing outside. The train ride back from Rejo hadn't exactly been an easy one. Too many memories came with witnessing someone else make his same mistakes.

"Unfortunately," Mustang called him back, tone practically bleeding contempt, at least in Ed's ears, "That's not all I have for you today."

Ed turned back, eyes promising murder. Yesterday had been hard enough, and he wasn't going to let that beat him down, but he deserved a break.

Mustang held out an assignment. "Similar to the last one, we have a rogue alchemist disturbing the locals."

 _Except this time it's_ only _property_ , Ed thought bitterly as he scanned the report. "This is in the city," Ed's scowl deepened. He knew where this was going.

"Very good, Fullmetal. And because of the alchemist's increasing activity, this mission needs to be addressed immediately."

And there it was. Ed practically growled, feeling as though he might breathe fire from his nostrils. "Why can't _you_ do it?" All Mustang ever did was paperwork. He was probably too prissy to get out and do any grunt work.

"Why should I do it when I have _you_ at my disposal?" He smirked.

"You just don't want to admit you're a wet match," Ed returned.

"Shorty."

"You aren't even trying!" Ed exploded, totally, and completely _done._ Throwing the assignment on the Colonel's desk, Ed stalked to the door, ready to collect Al from the outer office, finish the mission in record time, and crash in the dorms for a week.

Just as he rose his foot to kick the door out of his way, Mustang warned, "Don't let this one go missing."

Oh, snap!

Ed mentally cringed. If his claims about the previous mission were to be trusted he had to explain where the alchemist had gone. And the truth wasn't pretty or consistent with his lie. Rather than concoct a hasty excuse, he turned on his heel and left without a word.

Behind him, Mustang regarded his retreating figure with a dark expression.

… … … …

"Stupid Colonel with his stupid smug face. I hope he gets a hundred paper cuts and Fuery spills his lemonade all over him. I hope he gets demoted so low even the civilians can order him around. I hope he gets caught stealing Hawkeye's chocolate."

"Brother!" Al chided.

Ed sighed. Al was right, the things Hawkeye would do to a person stealing from her chocolate stash were unthinkably gruesome.

"When we finish this I'm not leaving the dorms for a month," Ed dreamed instead. Al gave a conceding hum.

Ed kicked an empty grocery sack away. It clung to him, and he shook his leg to get the clinging paper off his foot.

It had been three hours out in the downpour and not a thing to show for it but boots full of water and a rapidly souring attitude. Al had remained by his side, patient and caring, but even his optimism had dwindled as they had faced the most recent sight of destruction and left with no new information. Well, the crude method indicated an amateur. Technically that was a start, but it certainly wasn't a lead.

"Think maybe somebody's seen him down this street?" Ed groaned, peering down a new block.

Al stopped, hand on Ed's shoulder to keep his still. "Actually, Brother, I was thinking we should take a break for a bit. You're breathing's getting kind of strained, and don't think I haven't heard your automail–"

Ed brushed Al's hand off. "I'm fiiii-eeene," Ed's arm squealed as if in demonstration of Al's comment, and Ed's voice cracked into a breathy whine. It was true, this storm was getting hard to walk in, but with his stumps pressurized so badly, all he really wanted was to curl in on himself. He hadn't been kidding about holing up in the dorm for a year.

"We're going to the drug store," Al insisted.

Ed rubbed his shoulder port, trying to appear nonchalant and failing fantastically. "I don't need pain meds, Al. I just need to get this mission done."

Al gave him a non-expressive look that indicated he wasn't budging on the matter. In strengthening his point, Al pointed down the road. He had led the unsuspecting blond nearly to the doorstep of the shop. "Brother, you haven't been taking care of yourself, and I haven't been able to take care of you for a while now. Please let me at least do this much," he pleaded.

Ed stared up at his little brother. Al's expression didn't budge.

It was true that the last three missions had been explicitly solo missions. Even Ed had agreed about leaving Al in Central. The missions had been high risk and dangerously sensitive, especially that last one. This was the first time in almost a month that they had more than a few hours together.

It was part of their routine to take a day to breathe after a mission. To tune each other up and make sure everything was still relatively okay. But with the rapid succession of missions they hadn't even been allowed that.

Ed knew that Al found it comforting to look after Ed, especially when he needed it. Al had so few comforts now.

Ed's stubborn expression softened. He wouldn't begrudge his brother this small comfort.

Al practically beamed and led them down the lane. Ed let himself be ushered along, boots squelching underfoot. A sense of peace poked through his cold demeanor. There was something about letting Al do what he wanted that was relaxing.

Outside the store, Ed settled under the awning. He refused to enter drug stores just as much as he resisted entering a hospital. The smell of anesthetic and various medicines reminded him of his initial automail surgery.

"I'll be right out," Al assured as though Ed were the one in need of attention.

Ed nodded, "I'll be here." With Al inside, Ed slumped into the brick wall behind him. His burning limbs relaxed into his side and the sopping ground. Well, if he wasn't soaked before, he certainly was now. This had probably been the first moment of complete relaxation he had had since the start of this crazy month.

Why'd he have to come on this mission anyway? What was Mustang's deal? He hadn't done anything to provoke him. No more than usual, that is. So had Mustang just gotten an influx of missions to hand out? Maybe some sort of personal vendetta?

Ed snorted. He wouldn't put it past the Idiot-Colonel to do something so petty.

Ed's head hit the wall, and he sighed. As if by that sound, all the exhaustion began to seep into his muscles, weighing him down. He let the sensation take him. Al wouldn't mind if he dozed off for a minute or two. Maybe he'd catch a cold and be forced to abort the mission to recuperate. And the Colonel would have to let him take sick leave for as long as he needed, and he'd get to sleep under real blankets, not those thin, grey cotton ones. And he'd be able to have an actual _hot_ shower to get the cold out from under his skin. And he'd have a new _fluffy_ pillow that didn't smell like motor oil and dust…

Yeah…

His world had already gone black when the ground underneath him trembled, jerking him awake.

Ed's eyes snapped open. He saw it immediately. Across the street, what could be none other than Ed's target lifted his hands from the road. Cobblestones flew everywhere, and cars tilted up with the disrupted ground. In the spray of rubble, it was miraculous Ed hadn't been hit.

The alchemist canted his head tauntingly as if to say he knew exactly who Ed was. A sharp sneer egged Ed to come forward.

Ed didn't hesitate, scrambling up instantly. The moment he righted himself, the alchemist took off running.

"Come on, Al!" Ed shouted. "We've got him. Let's go!"

Al was still in the drug store by the time Ed entered the first cross-street, but he heard the distant clang of metal clashing down the road behind him. Or maybe that was the sound of his own footfalls in the puddles. No matter which, Ed was confident in his ability to corner and capture. There was only the one alchemist, and Ed was worth at least one and a half alchemists on his own. Besides, he wasn't willing to let him out of sight. Ed was beyond exhausted and well into the realm of apathetic insanity. He _needed_ to catch this guy.

His boots slipped as he skittered over wet cobblestones. As he turned into a dead end alley, he slid to a halt. The alchemist was cornered. Ed crouched low, prepared for an alchemic fight, but the alchemist only tipped his head again and smiled slow, mocking Ed's effort.

No, he was looking at something behind Ed.

A cold puddle of dread pooled in his stomach. Knowing he shouldn't, Ed chanced a peek over his shoulder – just in time to catch the bat with his head.

… … … …

When Ed woke he was shrouded in darkness. His brain throbbed, feeling numb and stuffy. A low groan rose in his throat, and he motioned to cradle his head in his hands to ward off the migraine.

Only…

He couldn't move.

As if by magic, his senses flared to life, and Ed jolted into keen awareness of his situation. His right shoulder down to his fingers was on _fire_. Metal and tubing were fused to the wall behind him, and he was trapped to the horrible melted mass and the frayed wires in it.

Ed gasped, and he wasn't sure if he had screamed or just couldn't breathe. His head pounded as his vision swam with black tendrils of darkness. Panicked, Ed tried reaching out with his left hand. Chains cut into his wrist, piercing the skin as he pulled desperately.

It was okay. He'd be okay. He'd been in bad situations before and lived. He could get out of this too…Oh. Oh, please, no. He couldn't feel his legs.

He felt what was left in his stomach lurch to the top of his throat.

In the midst of his panic, Ed thought he saw two pairs of boots walk through the opposite wall. No, through a door in the wall. Why did everything have to be so blurry?

One voice called out. "Fullmetal," it said. "The Fullmetal Alchemist…an honor to have…and soon Mustang…"

Ed forced himself to stop and simply _breathe_. He didn't have the luxury of panicking; he had to focus. Who knew where he was and whether help would come? He lifted his head with the intent of glaring down his captors.

"…and we'll be…and you'll be _dead_."

Ed didn't hear the rest.

When he woke up next his head was still clouded, but the panic had receded. One of the men, the alchemist, Ed thought, sauntered up to him and crouched low. This time the words didn't blend together as badly, and Ed strained to understand. Information was power, and at the moment with his arm melded to the freaking _wall_ he felt pretty powerless. He had to know why he was there.

"Well, it seems Mustang doesn't care for you after all."

A circle of cold pressed against Ed's chin, and he heard a click.

"I guess I get to do the job for him."

"Go to hell," Ed snarled.

In that moment, the back door blew open. Ed couldn't make out the figures with the alchemist's face blocking the majority of the view. He moved as though he could do something to defend himself, but it only proved how helpless he actually was.

In front of him the alchemist shifted slightly to the side, and Ed was left staring into the eyes of none other than Colonel Roy Mustang.

It was the last thing Ed saw before Mustang's bullet penetrated his skull.

… … … …

White.

Ed knew it was there even with his eyes closed. That meant he was…

Oh. Oh _please_ no.

"Welcome back, Mr. Al-che-mist."

Truth's Cheshire grin impaled Ed's eyes with its intensity. For a moment it was all he could see, but then he blinked and the amused smirk had backed off to reveal the dismembered outline of Truth. Without a word, Ed turned a full circle; if he was here then so was the Gate. It hung in space directly behind him, the doors blown wide open but without the clawing shadow hands and eyes that haunted his nightmares. The door was simply open as if it led nowhere at all.

Ed turned a horrified stare on Truth. "I'm here."

Truth's smile cracked the laws of possibility.

And then it hit. "I'm _dead._ "

The reality of it struck him with such force he staggered back a step.

 _Al._

"No. Nononono," Ed moaned. "I can't be dead. Al _needs_ me. I still haven't gotten his body back!" His voice rose in pitch as panic kicked in. "This isn't right. This can't be true. I didn't die. I'm not dead. I can't be. I _can't_!" Truth stared him down with a blunt, unreadable expression. The hellfires of hysteria receded at the sight as though Truth meant nothing to him if it were not there to take or to give, but merely to act as gatekeeper for living and dead. And if he was dead then his purpose to continue fighting was gone. The fire in Ed's eyes dimmed as the final realization slapped him hard. "Al…He's alone."

The thought of Alphonse hurt worse than the understanding that they might never see each other again. He could see Al by himself, hunched into a giant metal ball in the corner of their dorm room, waiting for Ed to never come back. Al, unable to live normally or beside anyone who truly knew and understood his secret. The images flipped through his mind like a personal purgatory, but they all stopped on the startling frame of Mustang's eyes.

Mustang had killed him.

All logic fled as Ed envisioned the Colonel approaching his sweet, innocent baby brother, informing him that the Fullmetal Alchemist was dead. Al would cry, or try to.

Would the jerk be happy? Ed could only see the hardened, empty eyes of a soldier staring him down as the bullet entered his skull. No twinge of regret crossed Mustang's expression, not even the faintest hesitation.

Had Mustang set this all up? The fluidness of the kidnapper's movements in response to the Colonel's sudden appearance seemed to indicate it. But _why_?

The flickering fear in the pit of Ed's heart grew as he fed it with doubts about the true meaning of his death. Had Ed fulfilled his usefulness, and Mustang wanted to eliminate him in private? Simply revealing that Ed had performed Human Transmutation would tarnish the Colonel's immaculate record. So was this his plan from the start, to eliminate Ed when his popularity as Fullmetal Alchemist stopped serving Mustang's purposes?

It was a false mission to cover up his death, and Mustang had been there to kill Ed himself.

Was it fair for Ed to feel a dagger of betrayal at the thought? This was all assuming the worst about the Colonel. But then, Ed was dead. None of it mattered now.

Except, if it _was_ true…

Ed would go through hell to protect his little brother, and that involved protecting him from backstabbing superior officers.

A fireball of courage built within him. Ed glared at the full-toothed smile across from him. "What happens now?" he demanded."'Cause I'm not letting that worthless dog near my brother, and not even _you_ can stop me!" The shout was swallowed in the blankness around them.

The bravado from a moment earlier remained even as Truth rose to a stand. If Ed wasn't so terrified of Truth's omniscience, he might have applauded himself for refusing to let go of his resolve to protect Al even in the face of murdering superiors and the equivalent of _god_.

"Roy Mustang killed you," Truth strode up to Ed, "But you aren't dead."

"Huh?"

Truth gestured to the door and abruptly they switched places, disorienting Ed to add to his confusion. "My door is wide open. You're free to go."

"What?" Ed stared as the familiar shadow hands reappeared from within the Gate and reached out to tear him away atom by atom.

From behind, Truth leaned next to Ed's ear and taunted, "Again."

* * *

-Dante


	2. Insipid

Insipid: lacking in qualities that interest, stimulate, or challenge

* * *

Ed gasped awake.

A second ago he was being torn apart as Truth laughed in his face. A second before that he had watched as the commander who had scouted him out personally ended his existence with a little silver bullet. His mind was working overdrive in order to keep up with his ever changing environment.

At the moment he felt something soft under his cheek. Soft, but his nose was choked with the aroma of motor oil and dust. He shifted and noted the thin grey blanket beneath him.

"…And after we get some food in you maybe we can go to the library. Take a break for a change." A hulking metal figure was leaning down to the side of the bed, picking up dirt caked boots and setting them in their place by the door of their mini dorm.

"I know you have to work, but…I really miss seeing you, Brother."

"Al." Ed pushed himself off the mattress and stared, dumbfounded.

Al looked up. "Yes?"

Ed couldn't speak; he didn't know what to say. The longer the silence stretched out, the greater he understood that he didn't have a clue what was going on.

Just as he opened his mouth to say, well, he didn't know, but _something_ , a familiar courier knock interrupted the moment. Al gave Ed one long, expectant look to let Ed know he could still say what he wanted, but still nothing came out. So Al opened the door and received the message, and Ed stared as déjà vu swept over him.

"Thank you, I'll let him know," Al replied courteously and closed the door. He turned back to Ed, a weight on his shoulders from the knowledge that their time together was short. "The Colonel wants to hear–"

"–your report," Ed finished, disbelieving.

Al nodded, "Right away." He paused, "Brother are you okay? You seem a little…tired."

Was he? He hardly felt it anymore. Suspicion and confusion overrode any other emotion he might have been feeling subconsciously.

"Hey Al…" Ed began slowly. "Don't you get the feeling we've done all this before?" Ed observed Al's demeanor as his brother placed a finger on his chin.

"Um…well, I suppose, but this happens a lot. I mean, not the you being gone part, but the courier always brings the phone messages from the Colonel. …And it _is_ usually about a report."

Ed frowned in contemplation. "Hm."

"Brother, I'm sure you're just tired. We don't have to go to the library right after your report. You need to sleep first."

Ed nodded idly as Al brought his nasty boots over to put back on. "Maybe," he commented, lagging a little in the conversation.

Maybe, in a bewildering twist of events, Ed now had a second chance to make things right.

Pft! Uh-huh, sure. Things like that didn't happen even with Truth involved, much less to him.

Maybe he _was_ just tired. It was possible that with so many missions and so little time to care for himself he had run himself to the point of hallucinating. Or maybe he had fallen asleep just now and dreamed it all up. He didn't know, and as he thought of each explanation in its own respect, he eliminated each one. They were all a far stretch from possibility. Except maybe the hallucination one; that bullet felt all too real for his comfort.

Whatever was true, Ed was still living in the present, and Colonel jerk-face wanted to see him. The nagging thought surfaced that he was getting paranoid from lack of sleep. He curtly dismissed it. Something was amiss, and he felt like the center of a cosmic joke. That irked him.

Following Al, Ed speedwalked to the office, kicked open the doors as was customary, and

stopped

in

his

tracks.

At his desk Fuery sat drinking his lemonade from the cafeteria having made no progress on the phone he was repairing. In the corner Hawkeye had her gun in pieces, hands going through her Monday morning cleaning routine. Havoc was talking with Breda about the overcast weather with Falman trying to ignore him as he worked through a stack of slips. And at the head of it all, the Colonel watched him expectantly from his desk, a perpetual smug smirk reserved just for him.

Disturbed by the exactness in setting, Ed began to wonder if the joke wasn't cosmic. Was it April Fool's Day? Did someone drug him last night? Because if they were playing him, Ed would smash in all their faces. He was too strung out to deal with practical jokes.

But still, it was eerie.

He walked past Havoc as he mentioned how the storm clouds were so thick it might flood the lower city.

"Didn't you say that yesterday?" Ed double checked himself, just to be sure.

"Huh?" Havoc halted. "Uh, I don't remember saying that." He smiled and shrugged, "Maybe?"

Ed let him off with a mistrustful glare and stomped through the rest of the office. Behind him Al threw out his customary greetings. Hawkeye invited Al to come sit next to her while he waited.

Ed glanced back at his brother. Wasn't Al going to say anything about the set-up? How Hawkeye thrived on the routine of cleaning her gun weekly and not ever once more or less? How the storm that had practically drowned Ed yesterday was only just beginning out the windows?

Al cheerfully accepted the seat and ushered Ed along so they could get back to the dorms.

Maybe Ed _was_ paranoid.

But not enough to give his report twice.

He stepped in front of Mustang's desk and opened his mouth, ready to tell him he was done with being a dog of the military and to quit jerking his leash around. But when his eyes met Mustang's Ed found himself at a loss for words.

All he could see was the gun barrel aimed at the center of his forehead. His hands began to shake, and anger boiled in his veins.

He didn't know what was going on, but there was no way that Mustang _hadn't_ killed him yesterday, or in a few hours, or– whatever. Ed didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but something had happened to him, and something was yet _going_ to happen to him.

Mustang's smirk drooped a bit in concern, but Ed cut him off before he could have the satisfaction of asking him to step into his inner office to deliver the report.

"Don't you have a mission for me?" Ed ground out, testing.

Mustang's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Instead of indulging Ed he parried, "Don't you have a report to deliver?"

"I already gave it." Ed pivoted on one heel and called, "Al, we're leaving."

Al stood, "But what about your report?"

"We've got a mission to finish." And this time it wasn't going to end the same. How could it when the mission he started yesterday, or at least so he thought, was a different mission entirely? This time the suspect was the Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang.

… … … …

So, if yesterday, erm, today actually happened, and Ed had been thrown back into the world of the living, why today? Truth wasn't merciful enough to give him a second chance – of that Ed had no doubt. Besides, where was the equivalency in that?

"Um, Brother?" Al quickstepped beside Ed. "You haven't told me what the mission is."

The alchemist was the key to the truth in this mission. No matter how hard he pressed Mustang, Ed knew the idiot was actually smart enough not to blow his top. After all, he had managed to keep his murderous intent secret for years. No use blowing it now. Ed only wanted to know if the whole mission was a set up or if Mustang had merely jumped on the chance. Either way, at least it was something Ed hoped he could get a straight answer on.

Ed would have kept walking without hearing Al, but his brother got smart and grabbed him by the shoulders, keeping him still until Ed realized he was no longer moving.

"Al?"

Al sighed, "Ed, we're halfway through the city, and I still don't know where we're going. You aren't acting like yourself. What's going on?"

Ed grimaced. Oh boy, how to explain this one?

"Well, Al, you see…" He was about to explain what he'd just witnessed, but now that he really stopped to look at Al, his brother was emanating worry. It had been _much_ too long since they had spent any time together. No need to worry him anymore than necessary.

"Yes…?" Al waited patiently, knowing Ed was less than eloquent – especially if he tried.

Ed scratched the back of his neck, stalling. He pulled back his hand and frowned at the way his braid squished. Probably too late to put his hood up.

Why'd he have to relive _today_?

"I guess I'm so tired it felt like I'd already finished the mission."

"Like déjà vu?" Al questioned.

"Yeah, something like that," Ed confirmed.

Ed knew Al well enough to see he had his reservations about leaving the subject there. But Al, sensing Ed's tiredness asked, "So where are we going?"

Boots tromped through a puddle. He didn't have time to waste. "We're after an alchemist. He's been making a mess of things in the city, and I've got a few questions for him." If his grin was a little too dark, Al didn't mention it.

"Okay. But, Brother, how do you know where he's going to be?"

Ed didn't answer, but when Al fell into consternated silence, a pit of guilt flooded Ed's heart. He slowed his pace.

"Hey, why don't I take a week off after this? We can go down and visit Winry."

Al's soul fire sparkled. "Really, Brother?"

Ed smiled, "Yeah."

And he meant it. Now all he had to do was figure out what was going on and get it resolved before Mustang tried to shoot him again.

Ed really thought things were going well when the alchemist popped up on the same corner not three hours into the search. This time he made sure to stay cautious and not corner himself even though he was on his own again, Al back in the drug store just like the first time.

As Ed chased the man, he actually thought about how things would go down. He would catch up and corner the alchemist. Then he would calmly and rationally ask the alchemist who employed him as Ed shoved his automail fist down his throat.

To Ed's satisfaction, everything went according to plan. He grinned and pulled back his arm to give the miserable kidnapper the full taste of his automail. Too late Ed registered the shuffle behind him. His mind connected the pieces.

 _Weren't there two–_ WHACK!

Ed blinked and found himself slumped and miserable on a cold floor. He blinked again and Mustang's eyes filled his vision. He didn't have time to blink before the bullet exited the gun chamber and turned the world white.

* * *

-Dante


	3. Nihilism

Nihilism: A viewpoint that values and beliefs are unfounded and that existence is senseless and useless

* * *

Making it through the repeat days wasn't as hard as he originally thought. It was more annoying than anything. Some conversations were just meant to be, Ed discovered. If he said or did a particular thing he could practically _recite_ the outcome by now.

"You said that yesterday," Ed deadpanned.

"Oh, did I?" Havoc smiled, "Well, I still think it might flood."

Breda leaned in for the usual jibe, "I think _you're_ the one who's flooded. You practically drank the bar dry last night."

Havoc smirked almost proudly, "I told you I could drink that officer under the table."

Falman glanced up from his pile of papers. "You know, if he ever finds out that you got the bartender to give you apple juice instead, he's going to sue you for everything you own."

" _You_ were with them?" Fuery squeaked, unnoticed, from across the room.

Breda cackled, "You did that? Classic!"

Hawkeye snapped in the last component of her gun with a sharp _click._ Ed flinched. If he ever got out of this cycle he hoped he could leave unscathed. Just the sight of Hawkeye's gun in the morning made him flinch. He didn't need the post-traumatic stress from all this drama; he had enough of that in his life already.

"If you don't start helping Falman fill out and file the monthly reports, I'll make _sure_ Officer Barkley finds out."

Fuery's unspoken expression spoke of disbelief. It wasn't often that Hawkeye stopped by a bar without the whole team. Still, her threat was one hundred percent sincere, and Havoc and Breda each scrambled to grab a stack of papers.

Hawkeye admonished Ed as well, "You shouldn't keep the Colonel waiting."

Ed glanced up to the desk where the Colonel had gone back to avoiding his paperwork while Ed ignored him from his spot next to Al at one desk. "Why? Because I have another mission that can't wait until tomorrow?"

The Colonel froze.

Bingo.

"If it waits any longer I might not capture that alchemist that's gone crazy in Central, or worse, if I wait too long I might get hurt being reckless or something and that'd be the _real_ tragedy," his voice was flat. Subtlety wasn't his style, but he was getting bored, and even if Mustang meant to kill him in the end, Ed still found it amusing to eke out a reaction.

He didn't hang around much longer after Mustang slid on a perfect mask of bewilderment; it sickened Ed to think about how well he had been played in the past, even if he sometimes saw through it.

Ed wandered the streets, wishing for sleep and knowing if he stayed in bed, Armstrong would be sent to muscle him back to "health". That Idiot Colonel was rather clever, thinking he could use that gentle giant as a front for concern. Well, Ed was through being deceived.

He walked right into the ambush, ready to beat his future captors to death if he had to. Avoiding his own death was that simple. If he never got kidnapped, Mustang couldn't kill him.

Ed really thought he had them at the throat until he missed a punch.

Truth sat waiting for him, and before Ed had a chance to orient himself, he was back on his dorm bed with a single word echoing in his mind.

On second thought, this was a lot harder than anticipated.

… … … …

Charging through each day and attempting to survive only got him so far, and each time evening came, the furthest he ever found himself was on the floor with a blaring concussion and Mustang's gun locked between his eyes.

He needed a different approach.

Apparently Al thought the same thing.

"It doesn't have that much milk in it, Brother," Al coaxed from across the booth.

Ed slumped in his seat, content to grumble like normal for once. "Ice cream is just flavored cow juice," he claimed.

" _Chocolate_ flavored cow juice," Al reminded.

After a morning of raman and avoiding Mustang and Armstrong, Al had insisted they top off their sluff day with a treat. Ed indulged him, tired of facing the same nightmare with his brother's worried and longing voice forefront of it all.

"I'm not eating it," he folded his arms in petulance.

Al scooted the bowl toward him. "Just try it. I promise it's not that bad."

Ed glared down the bowl. Across from him Al slouched lower in his seat. Guilt hit him then. Al loved ice cream when their mom was alive. She would make it fresh just for him, and Al would eat it straight from the machine. He hadn't eaten ice cream after she died regardless of who made it.

It was one of those joys taken from Al before everything else was taken too.

Ed grabbed the spoon. He steeled his stomach, and dug into the soft mass with determination.

The chocolate melted on his tongue, rich and smooth with an overlay of cold that sweetened the taste. He savored the flavor until it puddled in his mouth like the slimy milk it was made of.

"It's okay," he offered grudgingly, not wanting to lie, but needing to rid Al of that pitiful sadness in his soul fire eyes. He spooned up another mouthful.

Al crossed his arms, eyes glinting lightly, "Told you."

Ed jabbed his spoon at Al's chest. "It still made of cow secretions!" and with that declaration, he proceeded to finish the scoop and order another and another and one more after that. It wasn't _that_ bad.

He hadn't eaten so much in weeks. He emerged from the ice cream shop with his stomach bulging and his mind fresh from the change in activity.

It wasn't fair that such a pleasant morning could end the same as a bad one. Ed and Al were both taken despite their best efforts, and with that, Ed was beginning to rethink the theory of him being the butt of some cosmic joke.

Al was unusually still against the back wall when Ed woke. So this time Ed didn't look into his killer's eyes as he died. This time he kept his eyes closed so his brother couldn't see the pain in them as everything disappeared in a whirl of white once more.

… … … …

"Haven't figured it out yet, have you, Mr. Alchemist?" Truth bared its overwhelming grin, but even to Ed it looked a little strained. If Ed's perception could be trusted – truly a moot point – Truth was just a teensy bit frustrated. It wasn't the only one.

"Figured _what_ out?" Ed scowled. "What do you want from me?"

Truth only pointed through the door.

"Again."

… … … …

The most vexing part of the time loop, Ed soon discovered, was being stuck with the same ignorant people. He had tried talking his situation out with Al. Surely his little brother would believe him.

That never ended productively. Sometimes it was an outright repeat of his conversation about déjà vu, but often it only ended in Al telling Ed to get back into bed and to deliver the report in an hour after he rested up. Al's diagnosis of the situation: insomnia induced paranoia.

That had already been crossed off Ed's list days ago.

Ed had no one to bounce ideas off. He alone remained in the situation, and he alone had to solve it. If the whole problem wasn't so serious he might have laughed. Since That Day, Ed knew he was alone in his understanding of the world. No one else could save himself or his baby brother. Only he could fix their mistakes. Now was no different, except this time Ed had eternity to figure it out, and if he discovered that there was nothing he could do to change it, well, he'd figure that out later.

To avoid grinding himself into a rut, Ed took one morning off to go over the facts and see what else he could come up with.

 _Mustang kills me_

 _The stupid rainstorm_

 _Al and I get separated_

 _Attempts to leave the city end in capture_

Now that was a thought. Did the time loop extend past the city or was Central the only area affected? Logically if there was a time loop, it wouldn't be just one zone, but then nothing about this was logical.

A fresh idea sparked in his mind.

After feeling the bullet blast through his brains for the fourteenth – or was it fifteenth? – time, Ed secluded himself in an empty phone booth. He kicked a boot against the weathered glass. Outside, Al hunched protectively over two stray cats. Ed pretended he didn't notice the curious glances directed at him whenever Al thought he wasn't paying attention.

" _Hello?"_

"Sensei," he greeted, then hesitated. He hadn't thought through how to explain anything.

Taking Ed's pause the wrong way, Izumi presumed, " _Who are you in trouble with?_ "

Edward could _feel_ the frown of disapproval through the phone.

Might as well start with the strangest factor in this whole mess: "Truth."

All sound on the other end of the line stopped. After a second Ed heard receding footsteps. Izumi replaced the phone to her ear.

" _What happened?_ "

"I'm not entirely sure," Ed admitted. "Sensei, how have the past few days been for you? Anything odd going on?" Like unexpectedly going through the motions of the same Monday for an entire week?

"… _We had a request for thirty pounds of bear meat from a vegetarian organization, but that's not what you mean._ " Izumi surmised. " _Edward…_ "

The hiss in her voice suggested that she would rather talk in person about illegal subjects such as Human Transmutation and its side effects. Ed couldn't bring himself to care. If everything worked out the same as usual, he'd have no reason to worry. It'd be like this conversation never took place.

"I know, but I need you to do something. Call me at noon tomorrow."

" _What does that have to do with Truth?_ "

"I can't say. That would defeat the purpose of the experiment."

There was a long pause on the other end. " _…When I call back, you're telling me everything._ "

Fair enough. "Deal."

By late afternoon the next day she still hadn't called. Ed dialed her number. To his lack of surprise, she had forgotten everything.

Two hours later Mustang killed him, and by the following morning no one had any idea that he had ever been gone.

* * *

So we've seen Ed go through the first day, realize he's repeating the same day, and now over the course of two or more weeks he's trying to account for what's going on in order to figure out his true situation, the people actually involved, and what to do about it. Unfortunately, in the next chapter, he hits a...breakthrough. And I most definitely did NOT enjoy writing that chapter. Oh no, most definitely not...hehe.

 **Fun fact** about this chapter: it's the shortest one I've written for this fanfic.

Thanks for all the reviews of support and speculation. This has been so incredible! Your theories are a delight to read, especially for a story like this. Until it is finished, all updates will continue to be on Mondays.

Have a fun-filled week, everyone!

-Dante


	4. Truth

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own FMA or the words and their definitions.

 **A/N:** I guess you don't need the warning since there has been a death in literally every chapter previous, but here's the **warning** : there is death in this chapter too. Be warned.

* * *

Truth: sincerity in action, character, and utterance

 _capitalized_ _Christian_ _Science_ **:** god

* * *

It was about time for a long overdue nap, and nothing contented Ed more than sleeping when he was supposed to be working.

He'd tried this some time ago, and Mustang had sent Armstrong to get Ed back on his feet, but Ed planned this out better than before. It might be hours before anyone found him, and even if they did, he'd fight them till death's doorstep before they could take him alive – and wasn't it funny that the thought of being killed didn't bother him anymore?

On the ground below, Al sat reading and comparing notes in his notebook. After a minute he glanced up uncertainly. "Are you sure you don't want to sleep in the dorm?"

Ed rolled over and patted the top of the shelf so Al could see. "I like it up here," he declared. There were perks to having a brother as tall as Al. Especially when he was, well, a little late on his growth spurt. Definitely not short; no, never that.

Al shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh.

Ed scrunched back up on the center of the shelf. Just lying here with his eyes closed, he felt more normal than he had in…huh, which repeat _was_ he on? He'd lost count somewhere after the day he sneaked out Mustang's secret stash of alcohol and absconded to a storage closet to drink it all in petty revenge. Ah, that had been a good day; he barely remembered it.

Ed's shoulder blades dug groves into the shelf top. A soft groan of relief escaped him, and the tension holding his muscles taut slowly melted into the books below. He savored the moment, glad he could finally slow down and relax.

 _Thump-thump-thump_

Ed's heart jumped, and his eyes popped open. Stiffly, he shifted to peer over the edge. Al turned a page in his book. No one else stood in sight.

Warily, he retreated back to his original position. The alchemist wouldn't come in the library. He couldn't be that stupid. Besides, unless he was certified, security wouldn't let him in anyway.

Not like that would stop Mustang, but Ed took some comfort in knowing there was a layer of protection before he had to get involved – if it came to that.

At intervals, his breathing evened and again he tipped toward unconsciousness. As the blackness swallowed him, a new color opened up. White blossomed in his vision, and the thickness of it choked him while black hands wrapped around his throat. A figure outlined only by its own blankness stood far back from Ed, the corners of its mouth beginning to tilt down.

" _Again_."

Ed jerked himself out of the trance between wakefulness and dreams. His hands hit solid wood on either side of him.

 _Still here._

He scrunched his eyes closed, and rolled onto his side, as though muffling the whispers with his arms. Ed tried forcing himself to settle back into a comfortable stance, and for a few moments, all was silent. Then–

 _Kuh-THUMP, Kuh-THUMP_

He jerked himself upright, sure he heard the alchemist this time. Cautiously he leaned over the side and called down, "Hey Al, is anyone down there with you?"

Al looked around for him, but the search only confirmed their solitude.

That settled it. Ed was going crazy.

Abandoning the tantalizing idea of sleep, Ed jumped down beside Al and sulked against his side.

"I thought the shelf was comfortable," Al teased lightly.

"I got an idea, and now I can't sleep," Ed lied. In dichotomy, he rested more heavily into Al's armor. Maybe if he stayed close to someone he knew he could trust his mind would stop playing tricks on him.

Al turned another page.

"Hey," Ed sat straight, this time getting an actual idea. "Think they have any research about time travel?" He didn't wait for an answer before scrambling up and getting to work.

He could have slept all night for how awake he felt in that moment. A fresh approach to an old problem – his favorite kind of rush. He wasted no time in getting out every book and journal that addressed the topic of time.

Pen in hand, and Al by his side, Ed dug himself into the intoxicating zone of exclusive focus.

The first book only mentioned the possibility of time travel via mechanics – a theory more suitable for Winry's field of interest. Still, the part about _divine forces allowing_ was interesting. Mustang or Ed alone had no power to cause the resets, but Truth…it had been primary on his mind since the beginning. It made sense too.

But then there was the theory that time only related to how fast _you_ moved. So if Ed was somehow moving faster than everyone else but backwards…

"Hey, Brother?" Al shook Ed's shoulder gently.

"Mm?" Ed scribbled down a note.

"I asked you if you wanted to get something to eat. It's almost one, and you didn't eat anything when you got back."

"Uh-huh, sure."

Al hesitated. "How about I bring it to you?"

"Whatever you want, Al."

"Do you have any cenz on you? I left my pouch at the dorm."

"Huh?" Ed looked up. "Wha'didja say?"

Al sighed. "Can I have some money? I'm getting you lunch."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Ed searched his pockets, coming up empty. "Uh here," he pulled out his watch. "This should work fine as credit. You'll need it to get back in anyway."

"Okay." Al took the watch. "Anything you want in particular?"

"Mm…" Ed tapped his temple with his pen. "Yeah, bring me back some chocolate ice cream, will ya?"

Al stared. "…Brother, are you feeling alright?"

But Ed was already engrossed in his fifth book, translating the code like it was written by a child. He didn't pause again until he closed the cover of his sixth journal. The entire book was bogus, as were half of the other books. It seemed that he alone knew what a true time loop entailed. Most of the theories ran in circles while others indulged in pure fantasy.

This was getting him nowhere.

Ed stretched out, cracking his spine with a grunt. His stomach growled for attention. He frowned. Hadn't Al gone out for lunch? He should be back by now…

Ed wandered to the front desk. The librarian informed him that she hadn't seen him in some time. He had left at one. It was almost three.

… … … …

Ed checked HQ first. Call it a hunch, call it fear of the streets – whatever the reason, he was glad he went.

"Chief, what are you doing here?"

Ed stepped back in surprise as the remaining members of Mustang's team crowded him. "What do you mean?"

They ushered him inside, and that's when everything Ed had believed since the cycles began started to crumble.

"The front desk got a call a half hour ago," Havoc explained. "They transferred it up to the Colonel. It came from this alchemist that's been blowing apart half the city the past couple of days. He claimed to have you, and wanted to trade you for ransom. I mean, that's pretty bogus to begin with, and the Colonel called him on it. Nobody'd be stupid enough to think they could get away with something like that. But nobody's seen or heard from you since you left on your last assignment."

Falman took over, "The Colonel didn't want to risk it so he took Hawkeye and they left right after the call."

"So are you okay?" Fuery asked. "What happened?"

Ed shook his head. This was so wrong. The Colonel had dragged the entire team into the illusion that he was trying to save Ed.

…Unless it wasn't an illusion.

"I didn't get taken. I'm looking for Al. Has he been here?"

"Not since yesterday."

"He's been missing for _hours._ Are you sure you haven't seen him?"

Heads tilted back in concentration but came up with nil.

Anxiety and dread balled together in the pit of Ed's stomach. Determination settled hard on the surface. "Where were they going?"

"Who, boss?"

"Mustang and Hawkeye." Who else?

"I think I heard them say it was–"

… … … …

If Mustang hadn't hired someone to capture Ed, then the alchemist could have mistaken Al for the Fullmetal Alchemist. And if that had happened, then Al was the one suffering as hostage. If that was the case, and if Mustang had really intended to save Ed and not take advantage of the situation, then Mustang had never intended to kill him.

But that was only _if_.

Ed's mind whirled as he pounded pavement trying to get there in time. The destination came into sight. He skidded to a stop.

"…don't tell me, I can assure you that by the time anyone finds your smoking corpse, even your _bones_ will be too charred to recognize."

Behind Mustang, Hawkeye attempted to alert him, "Sir."

"And that's just the start. So why don't you start talking and tell me where Fullmetal is."

"Sir, the rain," she tried to remind him.

Mustang brought his fingers together, ready to snap and show the alchemist's accomplice just how serious he was about setting him on fire.

Hawkeye just sighed.

Ed stepped into sight, defensive, and just a little bit perplexed. He didn't say anything, but the accomplice's eyes spotted him right off. With no small ounce of suspicion, Mustang followed the line of sight to see Ed standing in the lip of the street.

He almost dropped the guy's collar.

"You stole my kill," Ed strode forward, studying Mustang's eyes for duplicity; but the shock and relief emanating from the Colonel's stance seemed real. They weren't the eyes of a killer.

But then, Mustang had fooled him before, and not during this one day. Mustang had used him to accomplish his purposes before, and although he never accepted the blame, he never failed to remind Ed that he wasn't the one in charge if Ed ever put that to the test. But why interrogate the alchemist's accomplice? …Unless Mustang wasn't working with him.

"Edward," Hawkeye called out in equal relief and surprise.

And then there was Hawkeye. She couldn't be involved. Though she supported Mustang, she had her own set of values and stuck to them. But…she was also Mustang's right hand. Everything Mustang planned, she knew, or at least they worked in sync well enough that words were unnecessary to communicate.

But if they planned Ed's death together, then there would be no need to interrogate, and the fear on the accomplice's face was real enough.

Ed's insides revolted, and logic squirmed to repel the idea, but Ed didn't know where to find Al and…he was tired of giving in to his paranoia, no matter how real the threat.

He breathed deeply, straightened his sopping coat, and in the space of a stride, forced himself to trust.

"Don't stop on my account," Ed continued forward. "They've got Al, and when people mess with my brother, I get _real_ unhappy." He raised an automail fist, ready to sucker punch this guy back for each time he had cheap shotted Ed before.

Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder. "What Edward and the Colonel mean to say is that if you don't lead us to where you holding Alphonse," her gun clicked.

Edward flinched.

So did the accomplice.

"–there will be consequences."

It didn't take long after that to convince him to lead them.

Honestly, Ed expected questions, and he did get a few. Ones like, "Where were you this morning?" and "Why wasn't Al with you?". He answered honestly. There had come a point several repeats ago that Ed realized that it wasn't important to deceive or be honest. No one remembered anyway, and by this point he cared so little himself that he was indifferent about what anyone believed. It just so happened that telling the truth took the least effort between concocting something believable or not.

Aside from the questions, Mustang didn't say much save to complain about the dour weather. Walking to the side of the accomplice, Ed's jacket clung to his skin, and his braid _thwap_ ed his back with each bouncing step. As much as he loathed to admit it, he was with Mustang on this: he hated rain.

When they arrived on site, Ed was surprised to learn that the building he always woke up in was, in fact, a regular house. Well, a storage shed _behind_ the house. That explained the chill that always settled on him during his moments of capture.

Hawkeye nodded at Ed, and Ed's lips curled upward with glee. One punch later she was able to chain the accomplice's limp hands to the backdoor stair rail. Satisfied, she retrieved her gun and came to stand beside Mustang as he poised to enter the shed.

Hawkeye glanced pointedly at his hands. "Sir."

Mustang looked at his hands as well. It took both him and Ed a moment to understand. Mustang's gloves were still soaked. With obvious distaste, he retrieved his pistol. Then, with a confirming glance at Hawkeye, Mustang burst through the door.

In a whirlwind, he assessed the situation. Al sat against the wall opposite them, patiently waiting for them to save the day. Ed felt his hackles rise at the sight of Al living this event in his place. _He_ should be the one sitting there.

Mustang raised his gun and, without pausing to aim, shot at the alchemist just as he began to turn away from examining Al. The bullet ricocheted off Al's helmet, hitting the alchemist in the arm. "AAGHH!"

As he staggered away from Al's armor, Ed ran past Mustang and leaped onto his kidnapper with a flying tackle. "AAAHH!" He punched the man once, twice. This had been long in coming. Three, four, and once more with his flesh hand for good measure.

Hawkeye reached to pull him off before the alchemist could sustain any further face reconstruction.

Ed struggled in her grip, swinging his fist back, "Stay away from my brother!" he screamed. And he might have done more if Hawkeye hadn't gasped softly in his ear as she tugged him back.

Over on the other side of the room, Ed heard a clang. Mustang drew back his hand from Al's armless armor. His gaze connected with Hawkeye and a sort of understanding passed between them. About what, Ed didn't care. His focus derailed from the alchemist and set on Al. He dashed over and knelt beside his brother.

"Al, are you okay? They didn't hurt you, did they?" He couldn't believe he had made it through this hour without dying. Ed would never wish kidnapping and torture on Al, but maybe now he wouldn't face a repeat. Maybe this was what it would take to break the cycle, and now they would all be okay. "It's alright now," Ed reassured. He only hoped this hadn't scarred Al too much. Truth knew Ed would pulverize the alchemist for laying a finger on his brother to begin with. Mustang would have a hard time getting the guy into court in one piece.

Mustang placed a hand on Ed's shoulder. "Edward…" he spoke grimly.

Ed scowled at the contact and motioned to shrug off Mustang's hand, but then he saw it.

Al's soul fire eyes were dark.

"...Al?" He shook the armor gently, barely rocking it.

Nothing.

"Al!"

Ed grabbed the front of Al's breastplate and tore it off. The metal of Al's back was warped, fused to the wall. The blood seal lay stretched, deformed, and ruined at the center.

Alphonse…

He couldn't breathe.

This wasn't right. How could he let this happen? Ed knew what was coming; _he_ of all people could have stopped this. _Should_ have stopped this... He should be the one here in Al's place.

Ed's fist hit the ground, and he hunched over, curling into himself. He still couldn't breathe. His only reason for doing so was dead. His chest constricted painfully, and he reached out a hand to brush the seal, as if he could do _some_ thing to save him. As if he could ever do anything right when it came to Al. Ed gasped suddenly, air rushing into his lungs in rebellion and pushing back outward in chest-wracking sobs.

"Edward," Mustang gently tugged him away the sight. Ed numbly allowed himself to be moved, too shocked to respond immediately. As Mustang reached the opposite side of the room, Ed startled to awareness in a panic. Desperate and hopeless, Ed lunged to close the distance, but Mustang was right there, wrapping his arms firmly around Ed, constraining him and letting him struggle pitifully. He heaved a sob and with that, shut down. He bent into Mustang's embrace. Mustang lowered them to the ground, and Ed limply followed his motions.

"This is my fault," he panted.

"No," Mustang quietly denied. "It wasn't."

"I couldn't save him," Ed argued, entirely exhausted of energy and will.

Mustang reassured, "There was nothing you could do." He was comforting rather than commanding. Helping instead of hurting. And wasn't that a change too? Rather than die on the ground with Mustang's hasty gun in his face, Ed was folded in the man's arms crying about something that didn't have to happen.

...didn't have to happen.

None of this had to happen.

He was so tired...the tears kept trickling down even as his hiccuped sighs abated.

 _There was nothing you could do_.

No, he could fix this. He was the _only_ one who could fix this. And this was his mess to fix.

Ed drew in a deep breath and lunged for Mustang's gun. The sudden motion had Mustang releasing him in surprise, but as Ed backed himself into a corner, dragging the loaded weapon with him, both officers stooped in to stop him. Trembling, Ed pressed the barrel to his temple and pleaded, "I'm done. I'm done. No more. Just, please, no more."

Mustang crouched not two feet from Ed, carefully positioning himself to cover Al's mangled armor from sight. Ed's eyes rested on Mustang, but the image of Al stained his vision.

Maybe this was what true madness was: believing his own demise could fix a problem. But, well, couldn't it? He'd always known that if he sacrificed himself he could restore Al's body. Now he was doing something similar, restoring Al's life and ignorance. Al shouldn't have gotten caught in the crosshairs of Ed's screwed up life.

…Why hadn't he pulled the trigger yet? He didn't really care about living. Ed lived for others, for Al. Al was dead, so why hesitate?

He didn't want to do this. Ed's breath trembled as cold reality shocked him with the prospect of dying once more. No matter what anyone said, death wasn't a painless release. Even if only for a second, he could feel the burn of a bullet drilling through bone. He didn't want to do this again. And maybe part of it was that inkling of a lasting conviction never to take a life, even if to save someone else. But could he do it if that someone else was Al?

Ed scrunched his eyes shut. He was too tired to think logic through anymore. He just had to go with what he knew. And he knew he couldn't live without Al. Ed would have inhaled deeply if his hysteria hadn't swallowed his ability to do so. His finger twitched tighter on the trigger.

For Al–

"STOP!" Mustang bellowed, startling Ed's eyes open. "Edward, _please_. I'll help you; I promise. Just please let me have the gun back."

As though detached from his own body, Ed stared in frozen shock.

Mustang wanted to help him? _Mustang_? The man who, intentionally or not, killed Ed at the end of every day? Sure, Ed knew the truth now, but, it didn't change the fact:

"You can't help me."

Mustang reached forward and pleaded, "I can, and I will." Noting Ed's razor focused attention, he added, "I promise."

In shifting, Ed could now see Al's empty armor. Still wading through shock and grief, Ed whispered, "I can't do this again."

"You don't have to," Mustang reassured.

Ed almost laughed.

Against everything he had built against Mustang in past repeats, Ed forced himself to trust.

"Promise?"

"I promise," Mustang confirmed.

He had no idea what he was committing to.

Ed gripped the gun hard.

To stop this timeline from ever existing–

To Truth more than to himself, he begged, "Again," and pulled the trigger.

* * *

-Dante


	5. Nostrum

Nostrum: usually questionable remedy or scheme

* * *

Ed startled awake, face pressed into his dusty pillow, and nose buried in the scent of oil.

"…And after we get some food in you maybe we can go to the library. Take a break for a change. I know you have to– Brother?"

Ed stretched his arms as far as they would go around Al's chest plate. Relief flooded him, making his legs weak. "Al."

"Yes?" Al squeaked.

Ed swallowed. "There's something I have to do, and it's extremely important that you stay here."

"But–"

 _Knock knock_

Al hesitated because Ed did not let go even at the courier's knock, but as he reached to answer, Ed brushed it off. "It's probably just Mustang wanting his report."

"Mustang? You never call him that…Did something happen while you were gone?"

The image of Al's twisted armor flashed in Ed's vision. "Yeah, sort of," he admitted. Ed released his hold, covertly swiped his eyes, and stepped back. Putting on his sanest grin, he declared, "But it wasn't anything I couldn't handle." He dropped the façade. "But Al, you have to promise me you won't leave the base."

Al shuffled forward, "Brother, you're kind of scaring me." He tried to get Ed to look at him, "What's going on?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, but I'm probably going to be gone all day," Ed slipped his boots back on and kicked off some of the caked mud.

"You wouldn't say I shouldn't worry about it if it wasn't dangerous," Al confronted.

"I didn't say it wasn't," Ed conceded, "but you shouldn't get involved."

"Let me come. I can help."

"I don't want you to get hurt." I don't want you to get killed _._

"You know I can take care of myself."

"You shouldn't have to!" Ed justified.

"Ed–"

"Just stay here, Al."

Ed made to open the door, but Al caught hold and shut it. "No."

Ed glared fully at his brother, straightening himself for added height. Al wasn't often defiant, and though Ed matched him in stubbornness, Al always got his way when they argued. It had always been this way between them.

But this was one battle that Ed couldn't let him win.

"Al, I have to go."

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I–" _Al's warped armor leaned quietly against the wall._ "I just can't."

"Brother, you can trust me."

 _Al's bloated blood seal stretched and swirled into the wall._ "I know that."

Al clenched his gloves into fists of frustration. "Then why won't you talk to me?"

"Just stay here, Al!" Ed hated the way his voice cracked at the end. He tried to blink away the memories of what had never been and never would be if he could get Al to stay in a safe place. Not trusting his voice anymore, Ed bowed his head further and begged, " _Please._ Trust me."

Al stopped. "…Okay," he answered quietly. "If it's that important to you, I'll stay." His arm dropped and he allowed Ed to shoulder his way past without another word.

Ed kept his head down all the way to Mustang's office. When he opened the door, his casual entrance raised heads.

Everyone was right where they had been for the past…month? Hawkeye sat behind her desk, cleaning her gun. Fuery twiddled with the ever problematic phone. Havoc leaned over next to Breda to discuss the perpetual rainstorm with Falman one seat over, buried to his nose in documents. And there sat Mustang just where he'd always be, waiting for Ed.

Ed walked – _walked_ – straight to Mustang's desk. Even Mustang was visibly startled by Ed's drastic personality shift. And were Ed's eyes red? They felt red. He probably looked like a walking train wreck.

"I need to talk to you," Ed deadpanned to the floor. "Privately. It can't wait."

Mustang's gaze narrowed. Ed could see the exchange between himself and Hawkeye as he led Ed into his office.

 _Keep it down out here. No visitors._

 _Yes, sir. Is he alright?_

 _I'll find out._

Mustang settled behind his desk and calculated the expense of one question. Deeming it safe for the situation, he jumped straight into the issue: "What do you need to discuss, Fullmetal?

Ed evaded Mustang's efforts to meet his eyes. Where to begin? Even he didn't know. He was too tired to think anymore. Absently, he rubbed his throbbing shoulder. Well, if he had to start somewhere, he might as well get the hard part over with first.

"I need your help." He paused. All he had to do was lay out the facts. It would be easier to explain if he didn't have to think about it all.

Ed drew in an unsteady breath. "I'm stuck in a time loop, and I can't get out. Every day I start in my dorm with Al right before you send for me to give a report. Every day I–"

Or Al…but that never happened.

"– am kidnapped by what your mission summary calls 'a rogue alchemist'. I get knocked out and later wake up in an old shed. Not long after that I end up…being pulled through the Gate."

Ed dared a glance at Mustang. He hadn't moved much save to listen more intently. "That's as far as I get every time before Truth tells me to start everything all over again and sends me back. Every time, the whole thing resets, and I wake up in my dorm again."

Ed ground his teeth. This was the moment of truth. The deciding factor in whether his sprouting trust in Mustang was founded or not. Was it fair to hold Mustang to a promise he couldn't recall making? Maybe not, but it was all Ed had. The constant calm self-assurance in his posture slumped under a wave of uncertainty. He would do _anything_ to keep what happened to Al from ever happening again. And for Al, he would swallow his pride. "Please Mustang," Ed pleaded. "Help me."

His eyes burned molten gold, meeting Mustang's gaze levelly.

Mustang was taking this surprisingly well. No outbursts or eyebrow raises. Only a shifting forward in his seat as he speculated, "Assuming what you're telling me is true–"

"It _is_." Ed frowned. Mustang couldn't seriously think he was making this up.

"Your situation seems to have something to do with an infraction of equivalency on your part."

What did _that_ mean?

 _Oh._

He was insinuating that– Ed's eyes narrowed, posture rigid.

"Then you haven't performed Human Transmutation," Mustang assessed. "Are you suggesting that this time loop is something beyond Truth's control?" Mustang mused.

Ed froze.

Wasn't that a scary thought? Ed's worst fear, bar losing Al, was Truth and its terrifying omniscience. If this was beyond its control, what hope did Ed have of breaking free from it? While Ed contemplated the idea that he may very well be powerless and Truth along with him, Mustang asked the obvious question.

"Is there something that triggers the repeat? Something you do or don't do? A place you go?" He listened expectantly. Ed's mood dropped to his boots.

"There's something," Mustang assessed calmly.

"It repeats when I die."

"Die?"

Ed nodded.

"Even _you_ are not unlucky enough to die at the end of each day." Ed's glare cooled the room. Mustang humored him, "So how do you die?"

With dead eyes, Ed stared through Mustang's dark gaze. "You kill me."

… … … …

Mustang surveyed the area. "This is where you found them?"

"Yeah," Ed wandered into the street where he had encountered Mustang and the accomplice the day before.

It had been a great relief to tell someone about all that had happened and have them, if not entirely believe him, trust him enough to help him. Even if that person was Mustang. Okay, well, especially because that person was Mustang. He'd missed being able to be in the same area as Mustang without fear of losing his head. Literally. In the figurative sense, he and Mustang had gone back to their regular banter, and if Ed was being honest with himself, he actually enjoyed it.

"You don't sound sure."

Well, mostly.

"A lot happened yesterday, okay?" Ed scowled, hating how the doubt crawled into his mind at the suggestion that his memory couldn't be trusted.

"Mm," Mustang adjusted his hat so the water poured off the side rather than down his back. "So this is the place you're kidnapped every day."

"Well, no," Ed admitted, "This is just where the other guy comes to collect. I've…been in a bunch of different places when they pop up."

"Like they're stalking you?" Mustang's tone was light, but his eyes scrutinized the perimeter.

"…" That explained a lot, but what really bothered Ed was that it gave credit to his paranoia.

Mustang glanced back at Ed. When Ed didn't respond, he suggested, "Perhaps we should search the area for them, see what turns up. Rather than wait around here, we might actually get somewhere."

As they exited the area, Mustang wondered aloud, "They must be good to get the upper hand with you every day."

"It's not like I _tried_ to get kidnapped," Ed retorted. Then rethought the statement. Was that a compliment? Ed shivered. Mustang complimenting him was more disturbing than Mustang trying to kill him.

"You're not one who has to try," Mustang snarked.

"Shut up," Ed snapped with a little less fire. He meant to take a larger stride to get ahead of Mustang, but as he pressed his weight on his left leg, the muscles seized, and Ed collapsed.

"Ed?" Mustang knelt.

"Urk!" Ed bit his tongue, keeping his teeth clamped until the cramping faded. Usually the pain got bad when he walked around in the rain too long; Ed had long since learned to either visit the drug store with Al first thing in the day or to stay inside as much as possible. Not that it helped much, but he avoided episodes like this. Moments when the pain was so bad he could barely breathe as he writhed helplessly on the ground.

"Ed, what's wrong?"

Ed panted, trying to ease the pain while keeping his face out of a puddle. It took a few blinding moments, but slowly the sensation faded back into the usual throb.

He dared to sit up. Now for the hard part.

Mustang steadied him as he staggered to his feet. Ed brushed him off, wishing he couldn't feel the cold sweat clamming up his skin underneath the raindrops. Ed flinched as a light spasm electrocuted his shoulder. His eyes cinched shut, and he pressed a hand to his aching shoulder.

"I'm fine," He insisted. "I'm fine.

The funny thing was that being miserable was the definition of "fine" for him now. Strange how his normal perceptions had shifted to accommodate his situation.

Mustang took Ed by the elbow and guided him to sit by a nearby wall. "No, you aren't," he sighed and waited as Ed suffered in silence.

… … … …

By noon, Ed and Mustang had patrolled the most common areas the alchemist strayed. The rain still hadn't let up, and Ed was starting to get tired of rubbing his shoulder and leg to vainly suppress the painful swelling in his stumps.

"What made you come to me?" Mustang interrupted Ed's string of silent cursing.

"I'm starting to wonder that myself," Ed grumbled, pulling his hood tighter around his face. They were getting nowhere, and he was tired.

"You said I kill you at the end of each day," Mustang reminded. "Logically that wouldn't make me number one in you line-up of people to request help from."

Ed didn't like where this was going.

"So something must have happened," he concluded.

Ed grimaced, "A different Mustang in a different timeline promised me you'd help. Okay?"

"So we've done this before."

Ed really didn't like where this was going.

"Not exactly." He thought fast. He wasn't ready to think about yesterday just yet. "You promised to help me track down the ones who keep kidnapping me."

"And you think finding the perpetrators will stop the cycles?" Mustang challenged.

"I don't know. But every time I try to avoid it, something bad happens and I end up dead. This time I want to _confront_ it. See if _that_ changes anything."

"Have you ever tried just staying on the military base instead of wandering through Central?"

Ed glowered, "Every time I try, somebody drags me out into the rain. I mean it! I thought I was the only one who knew about the hidden crawl space in the cafeteria kitchens."

"It's pretty hard to get to," he conceded.

"Yeah, I…wait, how do _you_ know about it?" Ed gave him a rather incredulous look that asked exactly how _he_ knew about the area.

The awkward silence hung between them long enough to grow stale and die out. Mustang cleared his throat, "I don't believe that with me in the vicinity, they will make their appearance."

That was a thought. Maybe they weren't stupid enough to think they could handle _two_ state alchemists. If they didn't show, what was there left to do? He barely remembered where that house and shed were; and he didn't exactly want to go back there. His only option right now was to find them on the streets like always. "Normally they show up by now," Ed protested.

As if on cue, the next street over blew up.

"Shall we?" Mustang pulled out his second pair of gloves – which Ed had reminded him to bring – to use until they soaked through.

Ed felt a wicked grin spread wide on his face. "It's about time!"

Unsurprisingly, the alchemist was there waiting for them with the same condescending attitude as the first time. He beckoned Ed forward with a tilt of his head. Ed strode forward with Mustang slightly behind. The expression wavered, and Ed reveled in the sensation of his maniacal smirk growing larger. This was just like old times, but with Mustang. Okay, not quite normal, but it felt good to be catching bad guys and not be caught by them.

"We already know what you've got planned." Ed closed in on his captor, his tone contemptful. "You're at the end of the line."

"Oh really?" One hand slapped the wall beside him, and the wall broke apart, creating a barrier of rubble between them, piling on the already ruined pavement. He attempted to dash out the other end of the street, but Mustang was ready for him. With one loud _snap_ , the alley lit up with roaring flames. The alchemist slapped the ground with his hand, and the disrupted pavement absorbed the brunt of the fire.

"How is he doing that?" Ed jumped back. Without arrays already drawn, the alchemist had to have an array somewhere on him. But he wasn't wearing gloves.

Mustang didn't answer for a moment. Then, "Look at his hand."

The alchemist's hand drew back to reveal a gruesome scar on the inside of his wrist, glowing with the faintest sparks of alchemical light.

Ed swore and tore down the alley. At last second, he clapped his hands and jumped on the former wall. It reformed to create a platform to carry him over the mess. The alchemist reached out and destroyed it just as Ed jumped down, aiming a kick at his face. The alchemist rolled away and darted for the exit again.

Mustang's flames whipped through the air, encompassing the alchemist for all of a second before he swerved out of the way, right into Ed's fist.

Ah, that felt good.

The alchemist staggered, and Ed clapped, about to use the opposite wall to block off the alchemist's getaway. Through a haze of confidence, Ed almost reacted too slowly as the alchemist made a comeback grab at Ed's face. Ed ducked under the hand and narrowly avoided a stream of flames passing overhead to scorch the alchemist's whole arm.

But the fire sputtered out quickly in the rain, and behind Ed the fire stopped and bullets started shooting through the air instead.

"Give up," Ed demanded, "Or I'm going to–"

"To _what_?" he challenged. "It's clear you can't even fight. It's a wonder you're a State Alchemist at all." His hand rushed at Ed's chest. Ed dodged, and reached down to construct a spear.

It was true. Ed hadn't fought properly since all this began. Only half-started fights before–

Oh snap! Where was the other guy?

"Mustang!"

 _BANG! CRASH!_

Silence.

At Ed's end of the alley, Al stood over the alchemist's unconscious form. At the opposite end, the accomplice lay dead, shot by Hawkeye as she took the bullet meant for Mustang.

Mustang dropped to his knees. "Riza," his hands went for her neck, checking for signs of life, to her chest, desperately trying to keep her with him. And finally, arms wrapping around her to hold her close.

"I shouldn't have asked her to help me find you. I was just so worried." Al stepped closer to the two, but his knees shook with a loud clatter. He fell, hands and knees on the ground. His voice shattered. "It's my fault. This is my fault…"

Al's dry sobs echoed through the alley as he claimed his responsibility in this over and over and over. It wasn't Al's fault, though. It was Ed's; his because he dragged Mustang into his mess.

Nothing ever ended right with him around. Feeling numb more than anything, Ed turned from the sight of Hawkeye's lifeless body cradled in Mustang's arms. All he ever did was make more messes for himself to clean up, and he was getting tired of it.

But what else could he do? He was the only one who had the power to change things enough to set them right. If they knew, no one would care what it cost him. He could reset the timeline as often as needed to do everything perfectly so what did it matter if he had to die by his own hand a time or two?

Unless his chances were limited. If he kept going on like there was no end, yet still trying to escape the cycle, sooner or later he might fix whatever started this and dying would finally result in death rather than another day.

But he wasn't willing to settle for this ending.

Amidst Mustang's broken cries, Ed's automail hand clinked against Mustang's discarded gun as he cautiously picked it up. His hands continued to shake as he raised it to his chest. As soon as this was over, he swore never to touch a gun again. They held too many nightmarish moments for him. In that same line of thinking, Ed positioned the gun for his heart this time. Placing the barrel against his temple brought bile to his throat in remembrance of Al's– that didn't matter now anyway. As he held position, everything around him started to numb. He felt detached as though this timeline was already inconsequential. It was almost comforting not to feel anything even as his hands still shook.

Al turned at the sound of rattling metal on metal. He saw Ed. He flipped around, scrambling to his feet and rushing forward. "Brother, STOP! What are you doing?!"

Ed's eyes locked on Al's. "Don't look, Al," he commanded.

"Brother!"

"Fullmetal…!"

He closed his eyes to the cold scene of carnage and Al's howls for him to stop.

Ed pulled the trigger.

And Al's arm thrust out, knocking the gun down.

"AAACCKK!" Ed's scream cut off with a gurgle as his mouth filled with blood. The ragged hole through his lungs squelched sharply as he gasped for breath. He was suffocating on his own blood.

 _Thunk_

His head hit the street with a painful reverberation that vibrated his skull. Mustang and Al hovered over him, and he struggled to breathe, needing to die, but unable to stop himself from trying to live.

"Edward!" Mustang pressed a bloody hand over the wound, eliciting a scream from Ed. "No. _No_! Not you too."

To the side, Al sat helpless, too much in shock to dry sob anymore, and wavering as to what to do now. Ed focused his gaze on Al. There was no way to explain why he had done this, nor would he have to, but the emoteless expression in Al's soul fire eyes burned the message of terror and sorrow into Ed's memory.

Desperately, Ed begged for the white of Truth's domain to tug at his consciousness, but only blackness came, tearing down the walls of his vision and overpowering his energy with its lulling comfort.

For a few seconds, Ed hung limp in the darkness, but soon enough he saw the arena of white growing larger.

"… _w ar d…Ed…wa r d._ "

The world came into focus, blurry, but still there. Ed couldn't move, and Mustang's voice came through like a kaleidoscope – fragmented and somewhat muted. Oddly enough, Ed felt phantom hands pumping his chest, pumping his heart full of life.

Oh no. Ed couldn't live. If he made it through this, than not only would Hawkeye stay dead, but Ed would have done the unimaginable: attempted suicide in front of his baby brother. For a moment, Ed realized he was up against that terrible future if Mustang saved him.

 _If_ he had a future after this.

White crept back into the edges of his vision, and the world began to fade out once more. Almost gratefully, Ed willingly followed the light out of the darkness.

… … … …

Ed sat across from Truth.

At present they were trading scowls.

"My door is only open for so long, and you keep wasting your chance."

Ed snorted, "I'm done with you. Quit jerking me around and tell me what's really going on. We both know you can't play nice."

"You're an alchemist, aren't you? Figure it out," Truth retorted. Its expression morphed into an eerie grin of menace and knowing. "Perhaps I should be thanking you instead. You _are_ slowly shutting the Gate behind you."

Shadow hands wriggled free as though summoned and wrapped their destructive claws around Ed's wrists.

"What are you talking about?" Ed demanded. The hands tore at his cheeks, pulling at his hair and constricting his chest. Truth watched silently, smiling smugly like a shadow of Mustang.

As Ed was pulled through the door, he thought he saw it close a little.

"Again."

* * *

Normally I'd have uploaded this a couple hours ago, but the electricity went out during another round of the snowstorm this morning, and I spent my morning digging us out of the house. So...yeah. I'm grateful the electricity is back!

-Dante


	6. Fey

**Disclaimer:** I do not own FMA or the word definitions.

This is the end.

Enjoy!

* * *

Consummation: the ultimate end **:** finish

Fey: fated to die

* * *

Ed had a theory. Something was stopping Truth from completing a trade, and it had something to do with something Ed hadn't noticed the first day. That was the extent of his theory. Holes or not, he took it and ran. After all, what did he have to lose at this point?

He started by reliving everything as exactly to the first day as he could. By doing so he could account for the variables by watching for the similarities.

"His door was locked when I got there, but I got in pretty easy," Ed rambled, watching Mustang for clues. "He was in the basement activating a human transmutation array."

No wait, he hadn't told Mustang that the first time.

"Err," Ed awkwardly tried to remember what was supposed to come next. Mustang raised an eyebrow.

"Anyway…he refused to stop so I tackled him. Kicked his butt pretty good," Ed smirked with a little bit of pride.

Mustang's other eyebrow joined the first.

Yup, he definitely didn't say that the first time.

"I told him to give up or I'd throw him in a cell myself, but he refused and activated the array again."

Wait…

Again.

 _Again_.

"And how did you respond?" Mustang prompted.

"…I stopped it…"

Lies. He was missing something. The truth lay within reach, and he felt his mind grinding overused gears to reveal the final missing piece.

"And what about the Philosopher Stone?"

Truth's words clicked in place.

Ed swore.

"Fullmetal?"

How had he missed it? He was so _stupid_! What time did the return train pull out of the station? If he ran he might make it.

" _Fullmetal_?"

Ed wasted no time bursting out of the office and booking it down Central's streets straight toward the Rejo boarding platform.

What if there _had_ been a Philosopher Stone, and he'd missed it? What if Truth had taken the alchemist _and_ the Philosopher Stone but hadn't been able to give anything back to equalize the exchange?

But what if it had?

… … … …

The array filled the room. The first time Ed had burst into the basement, he was forced to shout his threats and "wisdom" to the grieving man from one corner of the room. The area overflowed with rubble now. Ed wasn't idiotic enough to use alchemy to clear the beams and splinters of wood and plaster. He worked by hand to carefully clear the array of wreckage.

An hour and a half later, he stood by the edge of what might be the source of his problems. As expected, he didn't find a deformed pile of flesh and bones. The array was simply empty of anything that might have been given in return for the alchemist's life…and possibly more.

Ed's ribs hurt from the pounding of his heart. If he was wrong this would be his third suicide in as many days and he might not have another chance. But if he went back without testing his theory, nothing would change and he would end up dead. Again.

To break a cycle of repetition, something had to change.

 _CLAP!_

 _Shwing!_

Ed trained his mind on the center of the eye as the shadow hands reached to deconstruct him.

In seconds, his world flushed with white.

… … … …

"Good to see you again."

Ed slowly opened his eyes, not remembering when he had closed them. Ahead of him stood Truth, the final fragment of the Philosopher's Stone in its hand. "Sorry I can't say the same."

"Looks like there is enough for one more use." Truth turned it over.

"You knew the whole time," Ed accused, jabbing a finger at Truth.

Truth didn't deny it. "The alchemist had lost all hope thanks to what you said about the circle running in one direction. It was a clearly unfortunate suicide. And _this_ ," Truth closed formless fingers over the stone, "became an impressive cache of second chances for you."

Ed felt sick. He had been riding on the lives of others to give him extra chances not to mess up? "Then what happens now?"

"That's up to you," Truth stepped forward on Ed's flesh leg, "And what you want."

Ed's breath caught in his throat. No way was Truth offering to fix him.

Truth grinned.

No way was Ed going to let him. Not before Al.

There was no hesitation. "Just send me back."

Ed thought he heard a bit of derision in Truth's encompassing voice as it laughed. "Alright, Mr. Al-che-mist."

The Gate swung open wider than before, and the piece of Stone in Truth's grasp dissolved into red dust and disappeared into the air. Black tendrils like hands reached forward to deposit Ed into the world of the living.

"Goodbye."

"I'll be back," Ed promised as the shadow hands dragged him out. "But next time it'll be different."

"We shall see," Truth conceded.

The Gate slammed shut.

… … … …

Ed scuffed up the array. No, scuffed was the wrong word. He _ruined_ the array – erasing nearly the whole of it – and then, for added peace of mind, re-covered the basement floor with the rubble. He collapsed at the edge of the mess, but what he really wanted was to melt into the ground. It was done; it was over.

He seriously considered paying for a hotel room in town to crash. There probably wasn't another train going back to Central till tomorrow anyway. But Al would worry, and Ed's heart ached to think of all the time he's missed spending with him all because Truth couldn't shut his front door without help.

Besides, the way he had been going, he wouldn't be able to sleep without Al around anyway. If he could make it back to bed in safety then all this really _would_ be over.

Grumbling and cursing and mentally strung out enough to start laughing at his situation instead, Ed got to his feet and started the long walk back to Central.

… … … …

Ed woke up with his nose clogged with the scent of blood and scorched wires. His automail arm was screeching in protest as he struggled to move. All around him was quiet. And the last thing he remembered was running as fast as he could from the alchemist and his accomplice in the dark alleys of Central.

Ed's eyes shot open.

His right arm lay flat and fused to the wall with his flesh hand cuffed at the ground. The cold rushed to hug him with its familiar chill, and in the middle of the room stood the instigator of it all.

No. Nonononono. This couldn't be happening. Ed just fixed everything. This couldn't be how it all ended.

While the alchemist paced, Ed panicked. Mustang would come for him, and he would die. And this time there was no going back.

There wasn't much time. There never was. Ed decided then that he'd rather have eternity on his shoulders than just a few minutes and no second chances. As much as he loathed to admit it, there was a certain comfort in knowing he could always try again.

But he had lost his chances.

"Hey, peanut face!" Ed called. It was just like normal: if he changed nothing, then nothing changed. So he had to change something. "Where'd you learn to fight like a drowning cat? I've never seen such pathetic alchemy."

The blood from Ed's head wound seeped into the corner of his eye, but through it he thought he saw the alchemist frown.

"Normally people stupid enough to kidnap a state alchemist actually have the brains to do it right, but you can't even throw a real punch."

The alchemist crouched low in front of him just like the first time, and Ed could smell sour milk in his breath. "Then tell me, how do you explain that nasty head-smashing I gave you?"

Ed drew in a breath to retort, but his head suddenly drooped and blackness crawled around the edges of his vision. "You didn't do anything," Ed tried to sneer. His lungs felt heavy as though they had to push against walls of iron to provide air. He fought against the impending blackout. "You can't fight without help," he threw in.

"Hmm," the alchemist leaned close. "Speaking of that idiot partner of mine. I think he's a little late, don't you?" The gun slid into sight, and with great deliberation, the alchemist placed the end of the barrel between Ed's eyes. "Seems like that Colonel of yours doesn't care for you after all. I guess I get to do the job for him."

 _Al…I'm sorry._

Mustang burst through the door.

"STOP!" Ed bellowed and ducked his head low.

The warning shattered the air, and Mustang fumbled to react appropriately. But it was too late.

The bullet only veered to the side... and bounced harmlessly off Ed's mangled automail shoulder. It ricocheted right into the alchemist's arm.

"AAAGGH!" the alchemist screamed, and Hawkeye was on him in seconds, subduing him with a warning shot to the shoulder.

Mustang rushed to help Ed. "Fullmetal?" He tipped Ed's head up where it had stayed tight against his chest. "Ed, look at me. Where are you hurt?"

Ed stared at the alchemist writhing on the floor. "No more. I'm done. It's over." He sat paralyzed by the revelation.

"Ed?"

"It's over," Ed blinked, and a tear slipped out of his shock-wide eyes. The relief washed over him in a cleansing release, and his body sagged into the emotion. Until this moment, he hadn't noticed the tide of anxiety and tension building within him more and more every day. It was a relief to be done, a relief to embrace the exhaustion, and a relief not to die again.

His eyes traced his mangled automail. His nerves were silent as he absorbed the result of his reaction. Because he warned Mustang, the bullet had missed stealing his life and instead bounced harmlessly off his shoulder port. Bounced. It was kind of funny now that he thought about it. After all his attempts to circumvent the kidnapping and its disastrous end and after allowing his mind to spiral in endless panic for hours, the bullet simply _bounced_ off his arm. Harmlessly.

"Edward?" Ed bowed his head into Mustang's chest, unable to stop laughing and crying, and not really caring that the trauma was finally sinking in and seizing control of his ability to function. The relief mingled with exhaustion-produced hilarity.

If he was being honest, he probably looked over dramatically hysterical. He had suffered worse in the eyes of his commander, but he felt the past few weeks (or perhaps months) had bestowed him enough trauma for his release to be understandable, rational even. No one would remember the day Hawkeye died nor the time Ed tried lighting Mustang on fire as a preemptive and rather ironic act of revenge for his own death. Armstrong had already forgotten the arm wrestling competition – in which Ed lost, and _not_ because his arms were too short to reach. Winry wouldn't remember Ed's drunk-dial confession of affection after drinking half a cabinet of Mustang's finest liquor.

Alone, Ed had to face the remembrance of despair-filled hours when he thought he might never escape this catastrophe. He was stuck remembering the burn of a bullet and Al's premature…well, that still never happened.

Bewildered, Mustang tried to understand the reason for Ed's meltdown, prying the damaged automail off in case it was the source. Ed sobbed pathetically, glad to get it out while Al wasn't around.

It was over, and no one knew but him.

And now he had to go on living while everyone remained oblivious to his past months of torture.

Ed curled in on himself as Mustang yanked his ruined shoulder from the wreckage. He'd figure it out later if he got through the rest of this evening without getting killed again.

For now he just wanted some sleep.

Ed closed his eyes and the world went dark.

* * *

 **Funfacts:** I originally got this idea after watching three time-loop movies in a row just a year ago. Two weeks before Christmas I was asked to write a giftfic, and I liked this idea enough to settle down for eleven days to write it all. I thought it would be long, but I didn't think it'd be long enough to be considered a novella. I was right. I ended up being about 1,500 words short. Sadness...If I wrote just a little bit more than I could tell you that I accidentally wrote a novella. Haha!

Also, this is the most words I've written on a story in such a short period of time. Aren't you proud of me? ;)

After all your comments I began to wonder if I should write Mustang's side of the story because, believe it or not, his POV is not him living the same day over and over - well, sort of. It doesn't change the main story-line found here, so it would be like a bonus set of chapters (or a one-shot). I'd also be willing to write in a few of the days that Ed lived but were only mentioned. Let me know if you are interested. I won't promise anything, but if you'd like to read more from this, I'll seriously consider it.

-Dante Morose


	7. Again - Delay teaser

Mustang felt his eyes drying from the intensity of his stare, but he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Something was very, very wrong. He felt dizzy – lighter than air yet weighted down with a leaden apprehension that he already had blood on his hands.

He couldn't shake the feeling. It was like looking at that bloody phone booth all over again.

… _Again._

Ed looked into his eyes.

Wait!

"Again."

 _ **BANG!**_

* * *

Additional story, disclosed information, unraveled perspective. "Again – Delay" – coming soon.

-Dante


End file.
